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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206299">Not a Fish Vampire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossxtweed/pseuds/bossxtweed'>bossxtweed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:36:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossxtweed/pseuds/bossxtweed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor tries to help Missy, who's been hurt by----well, neither of them are sure what, but she's losing too much blood and might not make it til morning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/Missy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not a Fish Vampire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Missy,” the Doctor breathes, placing one hand on the other’s shoulder. “Missy, please---”</p><p>They’re both standing before an ornately gilded mirror, the Doctor in an orange version of her familiar rainbow shirt and the Mistress in only a petticoat and puffy, white blouse, the neckline of which is stained with reddish-orange blood, pressing sticky cloth into her skin. She is pale. Anemic. And yet she calmly presses a cool, wet cloth to her skin, removing as much of the blood as she can. </p><p>“Missy---” the Doctor tries again, meeting Missy’s blue eyes in the mirror.</p><p><em> “No, </em> Doctor,” Missy states firmly. “I’m <em> fine.”  </em></p><p>The Doctor opens her mouth, making a strangled cry, before folding her arms over her chest and pouting. “You’re <em> hurt, </em> and we don’t know how this’ll affect you---couldn’t’ve been a <em> Saturnyn, </em> otherwise you’d smell vaguely of <em> fish…”  </em></p><p>“Theta, <em> please,” </em> Missy sighs, wincing as the cloth presses too hard on the throbbing part of her neck, right above her jugular. “I’m <em> fi--” </em>she collapses forward, her body colliding with the wooden cabinets, and falls down, down, into the Doctor’s arms.</p><p><em> “Koschei!” </em>the Doctor cries, sinking to her knees, cradling the Mistress’ head in her lap. “Stay with me…” </p><p>She presses her ear to the other’s chest, listening for the beat of twin hearts and breathing a sigh once she finds it (though they were <em> far </em> too weak, and Missy was far too pale, and the Doctor spits out a slew of Gallifreyan curses, moving one hand to tenderly examine the other’s wounded neck). Two pinpricks. Not Saturnyn. But something--- <em> something </em> in her memory had been blocked out, removed, and she shuts her eyes, <em> trying </em>cou remember---but all that she can recall is a hooded figure crouching over Missy; the Doctor shouted at it, and it disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Missy weak, bloodied, and on the verge of unconsciousness. </p><p><em> It </em> <b> <em>can’t</em> </b> <em> be, </em> the Doctor muses, lifting Missy into her arms, one arm on her back, the other supporting her legs. <b> <em>Ghosts </em> </b> <em> I could buy---psychic residue, potentially aided by the Great Intelligence, but </em> <b> <em>vampires? </em> </b> <em> No…  </em></p><p>She carries Missy into one of the TARDIS’ many bedrooms; this one with a worn oak dresser and a king sized mattress with navy blue sheets, and sets her down gently, cushioning her head with pillows and drawing a chair to the bedside. “It’s alright,” she soothes, leaving for a moment to grab another wet cloth. “You’ll---you’ll be alright, Kosch’. I’m here.” The Doctor sits on the bed and gently dabs at Missy’s neck, clearing away the blood and exposing the depth of her wounds.</p><p>Once done, she sinks back into the chair, watching the rise and fall of the other’s chest, trying to quell the rising panic in her throat by assuring herself, <em> vampires </em> <b> <em>don’t </em> </b> <em> exist. </em></p><p>A few hours pass and the air feels <em>different---</em>the room is still, or at least, the other Time Lord is. And then, threads of golden energy begin to flow from the Mistress’ fingertips, soaking into the mattress, and the Doctor can only watch, helpless, as more and more energy bleeds from her oldest, dearest friend, her closest and best enemy. Missy opens her mouth, weakly asks for something. But it doesn’t register in the Doctor’s mind until Missy’s hand finds her own and she nudges a thought in her direction: <em>lipstick. </em>She’d had a tube of lipstick in the pockets of her skirts, only her skirts were still where she’d shed them, in the bathroom. <em>Quick now, </em>she thinks, <b><em>please,</em></b><em> Theta. Quickly.</em></p><p>The Doctor runs to the bathroom and digs through Missy’s pockets until she finds a small, metal tube. Gallifreyan words are etched into its smooth surface and the Doctor sighs, shaking her head. “Of course. Clever, Kosch’. <b><em>Very</em></b> clever.”</p><p>She runs back to the bedroom and sits down on the bed, passing the lipstick into Missy’s open palm, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s <em> not breathing</em>---it was like she was holding her breath, only she <em> wasn’t, </em>her bypass must have kicked in or she wouldn’t be conscious, and she watches as the Mistress’ palm closes around the tube, redirecting the regeneration energy into it. </p><p><em> Please… </em> the Doctor thinks, <em> please, please, </em> <b> <em>please….</em> </b></p><p>The regeneration energy fades away, most of it now contained in the small tube, and the Doctor notes that Missy is no longer pale, that her eyes have regained that all-too-familiar sparkle, and that the small punctures on her neck have disappeared entirely. She pulls Missy into a tight hug, laughing brokenly about how close that call had been. </p><p>“Don’t <b><em>ever</em></b> scare me like that again!” the Doctor scolds, pulling back, keeping her hands on the Mistress’ arms.</p><p>“Glad to know you still care,” Missy teases, leaning forward to gently, tenderly, kiss the Doctor’s lips. </p><p>“I’ll always care about you, Kosch’,” the Doctor assures with a wide grin.</p>
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